Writing the short film 3th - Part 10

4. What Occasion or Event Serves as the Catalyst? There will be times you would like to skip this question, leaving it until the last, and there will be times you’ll be able to answer it immediately—only to find that the catalyst changes with each draft of the script. Either way, you are engaged in discovering what it is that you want to say, rather than what you think it is you want to say. Still, it is important to realize that a screen- play should not be considered complete until the catalyst is in place. Calling up our image of Icarus trying to occupy himself with the gull feathers, in the answer to Question 2, and knowing that the climax must take place during his flight, it first seemed to us that the catalyst, or agent for change, in the script must be the moment when Daedalus conceives of escaping on wings made of feathers and wax. The difficulty was that Daedalus was not our protagonist. Therefore the question became this: How could we involve Icarus in this pivotal event? We turned to Aristotle, who has some very practical advice for dramatists in his Poetics: “In constructing the plot and working it out . . . the playwright should place the scene, as far as possible, before his eyes. In this way, seeing everything with the utmost vividness, as if he were a spectator of the action, he will discover what is in keeping with it, and be most unlikely to overlook inconsistencies.” 4 Close your eyes with us, then, and imagine a stone chamber at the top of the tower. Imagine Daedalus busy at the only table with his parchment and stylus. Imagine young Icarus, restless and bored, with little to do and noth- ing to look at but his father, the sea, the sky, the sun, and the gulls that perch on the open parapets. Imagine a pile of the feathers he’s gathered and the ways he invents to play with them—trying to make them float, keeping them up with his breath, pasting them onto his skin with water or spit so that he can spread his arms wide and pretend to be a seagull . . . Ask yourself what this particular father would do if he were disturbed while working. Probably he would rebuke his son sharply; only then, because he is by nature a “cunning artificer,” would he realize that there might be a way to construct real wings of feathers and, yes, candle wax. In answer to Question 4, then, the catalyst will be Daedalus’s realization, at the sight of Icarus imitating a bird in flight, that he might be able to design wings on which he and Icarus could escape. 5. What Is the Protagonist’s Dramatic Action? We arrived at an answer to this question by a roundabout way. Because Daedalus is a doer, not a dreamer, a desire to escape prison with his son would serve him as a strong dramatic action. We could simply have made Telling the Dramatic Story 53 Ch05.qxd 9/27/04 6:04 PM Page 53 Icarus’s dramatic action complementary—to escape prison with his father— but it might be more dramatic to follow through on our perception of him as a dreamer, very different from his father. This difference would exacerbate the natural tension between father and adolescent son. For when we go back to the original material, hunting clues to the father’s character, we are reminded that Daedalus killed his nephew—and favorite pupil!—out of fear that the boy might surpass him as an architect. Such a man would probably be an irascible, competitive parent. Thus, it makes sense that, in answer to Question 5, Icarus’s dramatic action is to escape his father any way he can. 6. What Is the Antagonist’s Dramatic Action? As discussed above, Daedalus’s dramatic action is to escape prison with his son. 7. How Is the Protagonist’s Dramatic Action Resolved? Icarus escapes his father, but at the cost of his life. 8. Do You Have Any Images or Ideas, However Unformed, as to What the Climax Might Be? The Ending? Keeping in mind that the climax, by definition, ought to be the most intense moment in the film or video—both for the audience and for the protago- nist—we should be searching for a powerful image, or series of images, that will express not just what Icarus is doing at that moment but also what he is feeling. Sometimes a writer is in possession of such an image early on and needs only to articulate it; sometimes he or she finds ideas by going back to the original material, or by doing further research. Sometimes an image of the climax does not appear until the writer is actually working on an outline, or even the first draft, of a screenplay. As professionals well know, each project can prove quite different in the writing from every other; the imagination works in mysterious ways. This myth is a tragic one, but it doesn’t at all follow that the script should be unrelentingly grim. On the contrary, if viewers are to identify with a doomed character such as Icarus, it’s essential that they empathize with the passion that drives him to destruction, that they be able to feel compassion for his belief in the possibility of achieving his heart’s desire. In our project, 54 Writing the Short Film Ch05.qxd 9/27/04 6:04 PM Page 54 where the climax will be the moment in which Icarus ignores his father’s shouts of warning and continues soaring up toward the sun, we need images that convey the wonders of such flight, the glory of wheeling and swooping and gliding like a seagull. In answer to the first part of Question 7, then, the climax is to be a series of images in which a joyful Icarus swoops, glides, and wheels up and up through the dazzling sunlight. What about an ending? Because death is the ultimate escape from any sit- uation in life, we can say that Icarus has achieved his dramatic action—to escape his father any way that he can. But at what a cost! It seemed to us that in order to explore the irony of this, we would need two different sorts of images for the ending—those showing the boy’s terror as he falls, and those showing the indifferent world through which he falls: blazing sun, tranquil sea, cloudless sky, and fields where peasants labor. (This last is suggested by a renowned painting by Pieter Brueghel the Elder, “The Fall of Icarus.”) At this point, we imagine the very last image of the film to be that of Icarus plunging into the sea and descending underwater in slow motion past the camera. FINDING A STRUCTURE (II) In long narrative films, there is time to develop plot as well as subplots, but in most short narratives, there is time only for a fairly simple story line, how- ever complete the characters or experimental the approach. In order to care about what happens to the main character, we need to be engaged as early as possible. We need to see that character in the midst of life, however briefly, before the catalyst occurs, introducing or stimulating the main dramatic action. Basically, developing this action through the character’s struggle with a series of increasingly difficult obstacles constitutes the story line or simple plot of a short film script. And while the concept of a full three-act structure has proven useful to writers of longer films (mainly features), it can be unhelpful—even obstructive—to writers of short films. With some excep- tions, it is best to think of the story line for a short as a single flow of inci- dents. In our experience, the following structure is a simpler, more flexible scaffolding for the short, whether it is original or an adaptation. STRUCTURING YOUR SHORT SCREENPLAY 1) Set up the main dramatic action, showing the protagonist in his or her life before things begin to change. Telling the Dramatic Story 55 Ch05.qxd 9/27/04 6:04 PM Page 55 2) Introduce the catalyst, which can be as subtle an occasion as meet- ing a stranger’s eyes across a room, or as violent an event as a car crash. One essential feature of the catalyst is its visible effect on the protagonist, as it results in the emergence of the main dramatic action. 3) Develop that dramatic action through a series of incidents in which the protagonist struggles to overcome the obstacle or obstacles that stand between him or her and the “object of desire”—whatever it is they now want. In general, these incidents or crises should be of increasing intensity, culminating in a climax which leads to resolu- tion of the action, one way or another. 4) Resolve the action so that the protagonist succeeds or fails in get- ting what he or she wants—always keeping in mind that an appar- ent success can turn out to be a failure (as when a character gains something and no longer wants it); and an apparent failure can turn out to be a success (as when a character gains something other than what he or she wants). 5) Bring the script to closure with a brief scene—often a single shot— which comments on, or simply reveals, the main character’s situa- tion at the end of the film. In a sense, the first and last steps above can be thought of as a simple fram- ing device that shows the protagonist before the main dramatic action gets underway, and again, after that action has been completed. Closure is the writer and director’s last word on the subject, the image or images they wish the audience to come away with. (More on closure in Chapter 7, Rewriting Your Script.) WRITING A STORY OUTLINE In an interview discussing the architecture of the screenplay, screenwriter William Goldman, author of the film scripts for Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Marathon Man, and All the President’s Men, says, “I’ve done a lot of thinking myself about what a screenplay is, and I’ve come up with nothing except that it’s carpentry. It’s basically putting down some kind of structure form that they [the actors and director] can then mess around with. And as long as they keep the structure form, whatever I have written is rel- atively valid; a scene will hold, regardless of the dialogue. It’s the thrust of a scene that’s kept pure.” 5 One of the most valuable tools we have for structure is the story outline, wherein each step briefly describes a full scene—ideally a scene that furthers the action. 56 Writing the Short Film Ch05.qxd 9/27/04 6:04 PM Page 56 The writing of a story outline often begins with collecting notes or making observations on character, location, events, bits of dialogue, or images that you have about the project. When these notes take on some sort of coherence, you can start asking yourself the questions we’ve listed. Keep in mind, though, that for most people the best way to work on ideas for writing any- thing is with pen in hand or fingers on keyboard. In the short script, where dialogue is best kept to a minimum, a detailed story outline can occasionally serve the purposes of a first-draft screenplay. There are students who prefer to answer the questions and move directly to a rough draft. If this second method is your choice, you will probably find that writing a bare-bones outline of this draft can help you spot problems in motivation and structure before going on to the next draft. It is much easier to see such diffi- culties when the scenes are laid out in sequence on a single sheet of paper. There are those who find that using index cards, or photocopied cutouts from the draft of the outline, for each step and moving them around helps in finding the sequence that works best. (Most people who have done any film editing at all discover, sooner or later, that casual or even accidental juxta- positions can yield extraordinary results.) When you arrive at the assignment, keep an open mind and be prepared to experiment with these strategies to find out what works for you. Because our first example of such an outline is intended for a very short animated film or video, and story-boarding is all-important in animation, it will be somewhat more detailed than it would be for most live-action films. Essentially, what we are aiming at is an outline that could almost serve as a first draft of the screenplay. STORY OUTLINE FOR “ICARUS’S FLIGHT” 1. Day. Icarus and Daedalus imprisoned in a room at the top of a tall tower. Icarus stands at one of the parapets, gazing out at sea and sky; Daedalus sits at a crude table, working on a plan of escape. He looks up, sees Icarus dreaming, and orders him to sweep the room. Icarus takes his time about obeying. 2. Night. Daedalus asleep on a cot, Icarus gazing out, as before. Daedalus stirs, sees the boy at the parapet, and orders him back to bed. When he closes his eyes, Icarus makes a face at him. 3. Day. Daedalus at the table, Icarus at the parapet. From Icarus’s point of view, we watch seagulls ride the wind. Quietly, he spreads arms wide and dips and turns in place, imitating them. 4. Day. Icarus collects discarded feathers from the sills of the parapets and adds them to a pile by his cot. Icarus at work, trying ways to paste feathers onto his arm. Telling the Dramatic Story 57 Ch05.qxd 9/27/04 6:04 PM Page 57 5. Night. Daedalus at the table, working by candlelight. Behind him, Icarus swoops about on feathered arms. He knocks against a stool and Daedalus looks up. “Stop that!” he bellows. Then he really sees what is going on, jumps up, and crosses the room to touch the feathers on his son’s arm. Icarus pulls away. We watch from his point of view as Daedalus goes back to the table and scrapes up a bit of melted candle wax, rolling it around between his fingers. 6. Montage of Icarus and Daedalus crafting the wings: gathering wax and feathers, stripping a cot of its straps to make an armature, and so on. As they work together, side by side, Daedalus impatiently corrects everything the boy does. 7. Night. Sound of a key in the lock. Quickly, they hide their work underneath one of the cots, and Icarus sits down on it, dangling his legs to hide what’s underneath. The door opens and the jailer comes in with supper tray and fresh candle. He leaves these and goes. Icarus runs to light the candle. 8. Day. Icarus and Daedalus gaze down at the completed pairs of wings, which are huge and very beautiful. Now Daedalus warns the boy to stay close behind him when they set out and—above all!—to be sure not to fly up toward the sun. Its rays would surely melt the wax that holds their wings together. They help one another tie them on. A winged Icarus stands out on the sill of one of the parapets. He gazes after his father, already in flight toward the distant shore. He takes a deep breath and launches himself into the air. 9. In the distance, we see the two figures flying, Daedalus in the lead. Intoxicated by his new freedom, Icarus begins to swoop and glide, flying up toward the sun. Daedalus turns, sees what is happening, and calls out to Icarus to come back. But at the sound of his father’s voice, the boy soars even farther. As Daedalus’s cries grow faint in the distance, Icarus begins to find it hard to move his wings and looks back over his shoulder in terror to see that they are losing their shape. He cries out to his father to save him as he begins to fall. 10. A wide shot of sea and sky as Daedalus, wings beating furiously, races to catch the boy. A shot of Icarus, plummeting down. The camera follows as he plunges into the sea and the water closes over his head. He descends slowly underwater, twisting and turning. As often happens, another image presented itself as a possible final one after we had finished the outline: 58 Writing the Short Film Ch05.qxd 9/27/04 6:04 PM Page 58 10a. A wide shot, with Daedalus circling above the place where his son vanished, calling Icarus’s name over and over. This last shot may not work in the film, because it leaves us contemplat- ing Daedalus’s suffering rather than that of our protagonist, Icarus. But it is worth thinking about, possibly even shooting, with the final decision left for the editing room. REFLECTIONS AND COMMENTS If you look over the outline, you will see that each step represents a scene that forwards the action, whether the scene is more or less continuous in time or is a single unit taking place at different times. For instance, the first step essentially sets up the main character’s situation and shows tension between Icarus and his father, even hinting at the struggle that will develop between them. Step 2 is a variation on this and could easily be considered a part of 1. Step 3 shows us Icarus as a dreamer, imagining him- self a seagull. Step 4 shows us Icarus carrying the fantasy a degree farther, and Step 5, even farther—to the point where he forgets himself enough to disturb Daedalus as he works. Then we have the reprimand, the boy’s display of anger at his father, and Daedalus’s realization that he might be able to craft wings for them of feath- ers and wax. From this point until step 9, each scene moves the two charac- ters toward escape from the tower—and Icarus’s escape from his father. Looking over the outline, you can see that there is nothing extraneous— everything counts. A writer has more freedom in writing a longer script, but digressions that are pleasurable in a feature are apt to lose the audience in a short film. Still, there are aspects of the story that have not yet been explored. For instance, in writing the actual screenplay, we would want to be sure to develop the suspense latent in Step 7, when the jailer comes into the chamber, as well as the mounting tension in Icarus’s struggle to stay aloft as his father tries desperately to reach him. A screenplay is a narrative, and one of the tasks of any narrative, whatever the medium, is to engage the curiosity of its audience. How? By the time-hon- ored method of “raising questions in their minds, and delaying the answers,” as novelist and critic David Lodge writes in The Art of Fiction. Lodge believes that the questions raised in narrative “are broadly of two kinds, having to do with causality (e.g., whodunit?) and temporality (e.g., what will happen next?), each exhibited in a very pure form by the classic detective story and the adventure story, respectively.” 6 The particular challenge for writers of short scripts is that there usually isn’t time to establish the protagonist’s character and plight in a leisurely Telling the Dramatic Story 59 Ch05.qxd 9/27/04 6:04 PM Page 59 . noth- ing to look at but his father, the sea, the sky, the sun, and the gulls that perch on the open parapets. Imagine a pile of the feathers he’s gathered. full scene—ideally a scene that furthers the action. 56 Writing the Short Film Ch05.qxd 9/27/04 6:04 PM Page 56 The writing of a story outline often begins